


Undone

by onebatch2batch



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, In the form of the classic trope:, Mildly Dubious Consent, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:53:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24887923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onebatch2batch/pseuds/onebatch2batch
Summary: “Rey,” Kylo says, strangled. Distantly, she doesn’t think she’ll ever be used to hearing her name in that deep baritone--in that intense, quivering way he speaks. His eyes are wide as he stares at her. She imagines she must look ridiculous--but maybe not, because there’s a flush rising on his cheeks and his next words are a choked, “what have you done.”--Or, the Reylo sex pollen fic that literally no one asked for
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 18
Kudos: 124





	Undone

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I know. I should be writing Kastle. I should be staying in my lane. But I just love them SO MUCH. And also, who doesn't love a good sex pollen story?? 👀 Please let me know what you think!!

Rey understands that her life as a Jedi in training affords her a slim margin of error. She’s used to this, growing up on Jakku. There she had known how long she could be in the heat before sun poisoning and dehydration set in. Or how far she could travel until the dunes shifted into sinking sands, swallowing up unaware travellers in the blink of an eye. Or which of Plutt’s lakeys she could swindle into more rations and which would beat her trying it.  _ However _ , the Jedi margin of error is sharper and narrower still. She must have enough fuel and supplies to traverse the vastness of space on missions. She must keep her inner shields up, otherwise Kylo Ren might manage to discern her whereabouts through their strange mental link. She must train until she is strong and confident with her saber as well as her staff. And lastly, she must listen to the Force when it speaks to her because it is infinitely wiser than she. 

Like now, for example. 

Rey feels rather than sees the bright crimson streak of a TIE fighter’s laser coming towards her and manages to yank the controls of her X-wing just in time to miss it. Her cockpit is filled with a cacophony of alarms. A quick glance around shows that she’s low on fuel, her shields are failing, and there’s incoming attacks--among other things. She grits her teeth against the noise and lifts her eyes to gaze out of the transparisteel at the ships careening towards her. As she does, she curses Poe for sending her on this mission alone. Not that he’d had any other option; their numbers are severely low after Crait. They had needed intel, and she was available. 

The mission had gone smoothly just long enough for Rey to exit hyperspace-- directly into the waiting arms of a First Order warship. She’s not sure whether they found her by pure coincidence or if they knew she would be there, but there had hardly been time to wonder before she was weaving in and out of blaster beams. Fortunately she had the Force--and therefore the advantage--so while their TIE fighters were faster, she could maneuver around them and use her ship’s superior weaponry to take them out. Even so it has taken far more fuel and resources than she would have liked, and once she has enough clearance to jump back into lightspeed and back to base, she takes it. Or at least that’s the plan. 

She feels Kylo Ren’s force signature just before she sees his sleek, advanced TIE fighter careening towards her. And unfortunately, it’s just before she yanks the lever to fly into hyperspace. 

Heart leaping in her throat, Rey falls out of warpspeed somewhere in the Outer Rim, somewhere unfamiliar. A quick glance at her screens tells her she’s in the atmosphere above a planet named Onzwih II, an uninhabited territory mostly covered in rainforests and large bodies of open water. It’s unfamiliar to her and a risk to be somewhere foreign with no reinforcements and the First Order at her back, but she’ll be damned if she leads the  _ Supreme Leader _ to Resistance allies. She’ll have to make a stand against Ren here. 

As if he’s reading her mind, a blast rocks the hull of her ship. Rey scowls, shooting the nearing TIE fighter a dirty look. There’s a reciprocating tendril of wry amusement that radiates from Kylo. She throws up her mental shields with a huff. 

“Laugh at that, moof-milker,” she mutters.

That seems to displease him, if the sudden barrage of lasers is any indication. Rey flips a switch and then holds fast to the controls as her ship rolls and shudders through the atmosphere of Onzwih II. Ren keeps pace with her easily--TIE fighters are faster than X-wings--but she’s got heavier weaponry. If she has any hope, it’s to shoot him down before he can do the same to her. Or she could make planetfall and hide until the Resistance comes for her. Jumping back into hyperspace would be pointless; she’s frighteningly low on fuel as it is. It’s in the split second between deciding her best course of action and taking it that another blast hits the hull of her ship, sending her cabin into another flurry of warning alarms. Rey glances at the console and then outside to Ren’s ship racing towards her. If she tries, she’s sure she’ll be able to see that ridiculous helmet of his. Or maybe he’s not wearing it and instead she’ll see those dark, expressive eyes narrowed at her, scowl twisting his lips. The idea gives her an odd shiver. 

Rey banishes the thought before she can get lost in it, focusing on her quickly forming plan. Facing him head on would be pointless; her ship is heavily damaged and she’s sure if this goes on much longer the rest of his fleet will find them. If they’re not already on the way, that is. She needs to make planetfall, hide her ship until her friends come looking for her. There aren’t any other viable options--and so she twists away and dips further down, watching the planet come up to meet her. 

The surprise maneuver puts some distance between them but in seconds, Ren’s TIE fighter will be close enough to shoot on her again. She has to do something to get him off her trail or--

Too late. Another shot hits the side of her ship, shaking the X-wing until her teeth chatter. Rey’s head hits the back of her chair with a thunk. She’s momentarily disoriented, and realizes too late that she’s barrel-rolling through the air enough to make her dizzy. There’s flashes of the purples and green of the planet below mixed with the occasional streak of Ren’s black ship, and she briefly loses control of her mental shields as she expends some of the Force on righting her ship’s projectile course. When her spinning vision begins to still, she curses to find Ren just above her and one of her wings smoking, the durasteel peeled away. Ren’s Force signature is smug. Rey is suddenly hit with a wave of anger. 

_ If I go down so do you,  _ Rey hisses through the bond. Her ship shudders with another well-placed laser beam. 

_ Somehow I doubt that, _ Kylo Ren taunts back, words placed in her ear just as if he is there in the small cockpit with her. 

Rey senses the moment one of her wings snaps apart just before it happens. It flies away from her and just barely avoids careening into Kylo’s ship. She curses and fights the controls. If she can’t right her trajectory, she’s done for. Before she can stop to consider her next move she abruptly shuts down the engine, dropping like a stone through the air. It’s a risky move, but if she can pull it off...

_ Rey.  _ Ren’s voice is shocked. And is it her, or does he sound  _ concerned _ ?  _ What— _

She slams down the walls of their bond, and his voice in her mind is replaced with the wailing of her controls once more. Rey waits until Kylo’s fighter is close, until she can just see his outline in the cockpit, and then kick starts the engine, yanking the controls until her remaining wing smashes into his own. The groan of crunching durasteel meets her ears and then there’s a jerk that throws her head backwards—

—and then they’re both free falling towards the ground. 

Rey can see his ship wobble as he tries to—unsuccessfully—right it.  _ Good, see how that feels,  _ she thinks sourly. She busies herself with preparation for a rough landing, grimacing at the rapidly approaching planet. 

It’s by some miracle of the Force that she manages to crash land onto what seems to be a large lake. Rey ejects herself from the cockpit before it can be completely submerged, the water crashing and bubbling around her from the force of her impact. She’s not a fantastic swimmer, having grown up in the desert, but she manages to paddle and gasp her way until she’s standing unsteadily on two feet. Stumbling on the embankment, she looks up in search of Kylo’s fighter. It falls through the sky and lands with a terrifying crash in the trees a ways off.  _ That should keep him busy a while, _ she thinks victoriously. 

And then, all is silent. 

Rey tries to calm her frantically beating heart as she surveys her surroundings. She’s standing on wet, mossy earth just outside the lake. Mists curl around her ankles and the humidity of the air is constricting in her throat. She’s used to dry heat, but this is something else entirely. This is a heat that builds in her lungs, wet and heavy. It seems to want to drown her. She turns in a slow circle, eyes tracing the lush treeline for any signs of life. There is nothing--no animals, no intelligent lifeforms--just trees towering above her, thick and strong. There’s so much green intermixed with the purple of what must be this planet’s moss--it’s breathtaking and beautiful. Upon looking closer she can see a multitude of flowers in every shape and size where the treeline begins; they dance in the warm breeze. A deep inhale brings the fragrant smell of them to her nose. The air is breathable, and she’s not injured-- but there will be no assistance here; she is alone. 

Rey turns back to the water where the surface is bubbling, the only remnant of what used to be her ship. And her communications with the Resistance. 

“Krif,” she mutters.

—

Kylo Ren emerges from the trees a handful of minutes later as Rey is wringing out her hair. He’s not in his helmet, which is a relief because she gets to see the emotions fly across his face once he locks eyes with her. Anger, annoyance, and frustration--all directed at her in a smoldering glare.

He marches towards her and stops several strides away, eyes blazing. “I see you survived that ridiculous maneuver,” he snaps, gaze trailing over her in a perfunctory, searching manner.

Rey stands her ground and watches him coolly. Her hair drapes over one shoulder, dripping onto her already-wet tunic. “No thanks to you.” 

He laughs, but it’s a harsh and grated sound. “ _ You’re  _ the one who used your own ship as a battering ram.” 

Rey notes that his lightsaber is still clipped to his belt. She toys with the switch on her own (or rather, her borrowed one) and widens her stance. “ _ You’re  _ the one who followed me.” 

But Kylo isn’t looking at her. He’s looking at the saber in her hand, scowling. “That belongs to me. Give it to me.” 

With anyone else, the words would have been funny. Petulant, even. But with his deep baritone and ferocious glare she isn’t laughing. Rey tightens her grip on her weapon. “No.” 

His gaze snaps up, and then finally he reaches for his own weapon. “Then I will take it from you.”

She barely has time to open her mouth with a retort before he’s coming towards her, black boots on mossy ground, fog swirling around him as he advances. His saber ignites with a chorus of crackling and that’s all the warning she has before it swings towards her head. Rey ducks out from under his broad arch and stumbles backwards, trying to find solid footing on the mud covered ground. Her saber ignites just as he spins and lashes out again, and the resounding meeting of blades throws the air into a chirping cacophony. 

Kylo’s eyes are wild as he pushes forward with his blade, and Rey meets him with all the strength she can muster. It’s hard though, when her feet sink into the ground as if it’s a great pit of quicksand. Rey grits her teeth and uses his own weight against him, rolling out from under his blade and leaping towards the treeline. 

Kylo stumbles once and then whips around to find her, teeth bared. Rey waits, both hands on her saber. The force curls around her as he approaches once more, although this time with more restraint. He swings the blade in a circle at his side, a move she’s seen on him before. Specifically when he’s plotting his next move. His stare is intense and calculating. His jaw ticks. 

“You will not have this blade,” Rey calls to him, breathing hard already. 

Kylo smirks. There’s something feral to it. “We’ll see.” 

And then he’s on her again, the brute strength of his blows against her saber making her ears ring and teeth grit as she meets them. He is relentless, pushing and slashing until she has no choice but to step backwards into the trees. She was hoping to stay on the beach where there are no lifted roots or foliage to trip her up. One misstep in the trees could be deadly, with the way Kylo is coming after her. Rey is barely five steps backwards when her foot falls into something soft that releases a plume of pollen, showering them both in glittering, golden hues. The effect is immediate.

Kylo stops suddenly, arm coming up to cover his mouth and nose. She mirrors his actions, their sabers extinguishing as they tries to block their face from the dust. It’s no use--the pollen’s intense, sickly sweet aroma fills Rey’s senses until she thinks she’ll pass out just from the strength of it. When she blinks open her eyes, they’re both covered in the stuff. It shimmers on Kylo’s skin, giving an ethereal glow that steals her breath. He looks beautiful, regal even, with the gold shimmers on his high cheekbones and strong jaw. Every movement from them both sends more of the dust down to the ground and Rey finds herself captured by the sight. Kylo’s dark armor is covered as well; it shines like a beacon to her. Drawing her in--an Alessian terror moth to a flame. She’s suddenly so  _ warm _ .

“Rey,” Kylo says, strangled. Distantly, she doesn’t think she’ll ever be used to hearing her name in that deep baritone--in that intense, quivering way he speaks. His eyes are wide as he stares at her. She imagines she  _ must _ look ridiculous--but maybe not, because there’s a flush rising on his cheeks and his next words are a choked, “what have you  _ done _ .” 

Rey doesn’t answer, distracted by the fire that is building inside her. It starts in her belly and branches out to fill her limbs. It reaches the crown of her head and sweeps back down to her toes. It is nothing like the warmth of the deserts on Jakku. This warmth is one she’s felt only a handful of times before—when one of the Resistance boys grins at her, shirtless as he works on a stolen X-wing; or when she lays in her bunk at night and thinks of things she shouldn’t  _ with  _ people she shouldn’t; or when she’s sparring and her opponent pins her and their chests are heaving and they are  _ so close _ —

Kylo growls, low in his throat. It sends another shock of heat through her system. She realizes that the force bond is wide open. He can see what she thinks, and she—

Oh. 

_ Oh _ . 

Rey must be flushing now, because Kylo is projecting his own thoughts to her. It comes in a scattered way, as if he doesn’t know what to say first:

_ That pollen has properties—Don’t want you to think about anyone like that—You look so—Rey—Have those Resistance boys pleased you the way I can— _

Rey gasps. Kylo steps closer, until he’s towering over her. He looks imposing in his dark clothes and cloak, despite the glitter covering him from head to toe. His eyes are transfixed on her own as he lifts his gloved hand and touches her cheek. The moment he does, Rey moves into it as if unable to stop. As if there are opposing magnets between them, drawing each other closer. 

“Have they?” He asks her, his voice just above a whisper. 

“Have they what?” 

Her voice trembles. She wants so many things. She wants him to get away from her; she wants to pull him closer. She wants him to keep talking, keep distracting her from what is happening with her own body; she wants him to shut up and press his mouth to hers—

“ _ Have _ they pleased you, Rey?” 

His eyes shine. At his side, his other hand tightens into a fist of restraint. She sees it all—the way his chest heaves, the way his lashes flutter as he watches her. 

Rey groans. It’s a sound she’s never made before, but Kylo’s hand on her cheek is drawing down her neck and then further, and he’s pressing closer and  _ when did that tree get behind her?  _ and then his breath is hot in her face. 

“No,” she whimpers, pressing her thighs together as heat gathers there, too. 

She hopes he doesn't notice, but he does. Kylo leans down, his wide shoulders hovering above her as his head ducks, lips meeting the shell of her ear. “Would you like me to, scavenger?” 

A shiver erupts down her spine.  _ What is going on with me?  _ her mind questions from very, very far away. 

“What—what  _ was _ that?” She asks in lieu of an answer, fighting to get the words out past the lump in her throat. Trying for some semblance of control of her traitorous body. She counts the heartbeats until he answers. 

“That was a species of flower. The Ohrow.” he rasps, drawing backwards enough to fix her with a stare. “It’s native to this planet. The pollen gives those who inhale it a certain…disposition. And you covered us both with it.”

Kylo shifts forward slightly, and Rey’s eyes widen as a hard bulge presses into her hip. It draws a hiss of pleasure from him, and his other hand comes up to scrabble at the bark above her. Rey realizes, through the haze of want in her own mind, that Kylo Ren has an erection. An erection for  _ her _ . The knowledge makes her heart burst into a gallop and wetness pool between her legs. 

“Krif,” he curses, breathing uneven. She can see the stress of restraint on him--the tick in his jaw, the tenseness of his shoulders, the furrow in his brow. There’s a moment where his eyes look at her full of ache and pleading. It’s a complete switch from the intense stare he’d been giving her moments before. “Rey, get—get away from me if—“

That’s what does it. Rey watches as he jerks his hips towards her with an expression that could only be described as apologetic  _ and  _ wanting, one large hand pressed flat to her sternum as if he wants to simultaneously pull and push her away. She watches as he grits his teeth and turns his head from her--trying in vain to put some distance between them, despite the fact that it’s  _ his _ broad frame that has her caged against the tree. She realizes all at once that Kylo Ren no longer stands before her, but Ben Solo, and he is coming undone. Her heart aches to see it. 

“I’ve never—“ she starts, and then catches her breath when his head jerks up, gaze meeting hers in shock. She hears an echo of his surprise in her mind:  _ she’s still here, she’s not running-- _ “Never have.” 

Kylo—Ben—inhales sharply. Her meaning is not lost on him. “Never?” 

Rey doesn’t move. She feels simultaneously trapped and liberated by her admission. There’s a pause where he stares at her, and then there’s a prodding of her mental barriers and he’s inside, projecting images: his mouth on hers; his large hands lifting her until she’s sitting on his hips, back digging into the bark; his wild, thick hair between her legs; his hands caressing at her breasts. It’s nothing like last time he was in her mind--this time it’s a give rather than take. It’s supplication and anticipation all in one. The pictures flash through her mind, each punctuated by the quick jerking of his hips. Each one a desperate question, seeking an answer. 

As if she could—would—say no. 

As if the warmth of his breath and the taunt neediness of his shoulders isn’t enough to make her want to explode. As if the way he licks his lips doesn’t send a hot jolt of electricity up her spine, or the palm of his hand so close to her breast doesn’t do things to her. She wants him--and through the haze in her mind she knows the pollen has something to do with it but she can’t bring herself to care. He’s here in front of her, a solid being for the first time in a long time rather than just a sulking, hulking mirage, and she  _ wants _ him. 

Rey nods and sees the split second of relief and gratitude on his face before he catches her mouth with his and the hand on her chest lowers to cup her breast. Rey arches into his touch like a dam breaking open, her fingers reaching up to tangle in his hair as she pulls him closer. It is instant relief, the way he presses against her, the warmth of his body mixing with her own. It does nothing to calm the furious pounding of her heart--in fact, it makes it beat quicker. She decides, the moment after his tongue swipes at the seam of her lips and she opens her mouth to grant him access, that Ben is wearing too many clothes. As his mouth sears a desperate path from her lips to her neck, Rey’s fingers find the clasps of his cape, sending it to their feet. She works at the belt around his waist and then undoes the clasps of his armor. He's wearing a long sleeve shirt underneath that she tries to wrestle off, but he’s suddenly breaking away to stare down at her, chest heaving. Waiting. In the resounding silence, Rey reaches up and peels off her damp shirt. 

It’s a good thing, too, because the way he’s staring at her is burning her from the inside out. His hands settle at her waist, tightening as she quickly unravels the bindings around her chest. 

“Rey,” he groans once her breasts are free, and reaches for her. 

“Wait.” 

He stops, but does not move away. Rey inhales slowly, but the move brings in more pollen than before. It showers from him to her. She licks her lips.

“Take off your gloves.” 

Ben does as he’s asked. Without hesitation, he rips them off and tosses them to the ground. When he looks at her again, she sees the desperation on his face. 

She nods, and Ben cups her breasts with his palms. It’s so much lovelier this way, she thinks dazedly, without the barriers of her clothes and his gloves. With the way his saber callused hands pinch and pull, cup and press. Testing. She wonders if he’s done this before. Her nipples are teased into hard peaks and it’s not  _ enough _ .

He seems to hear her thoughts—she’s sure he’s listening in—because suddenly his head ducks and his mouth is on her. It starts at her neck, trailing over her shoulders slowly. “I haven’t, Rey. These freckles,” he mumbles as if in a haze, “I dreamed about these freckles. If they were everywhere…” 

Rey pants, looking down at the sea of black tresses traversing across her sternum, and then his lips are wrapped around one nipple, sucking. 

Rey whines, fingers going back to his hair. It’s so soft, and for a moment she thinks that someone with lips this soft and hair this soft has no place in the Dark Side. He stills against her only briefly as her thoughts flash across his consciousness, and then he emits another low growl that she feels against her chest. It makes her pulse jump, and she opens her mouth to speak but his hand is slipping down her body to slide under her waistband, fingers brushing over the soft curls there. She balls her fist in his shirt and gasps with every slow, torturous swipe of his fingers  _ just _ close enough to make her squirm. Ben leans down to press his lips to her throat. 

“Tell me what you want, Rey.”

She arches up against him, seeking out the friction of his fingers, but she finds herself pinned against the tree. It is not Ben--although he is pressed against her front, she feels the strong tendrils of the Force as they hold her in place for him. Ben gathers her hands and presses a kiss to each wrist before holding them above her head. And then she is immobile, the force caressing and holding her as Ben kneels before her. At her silence, he speaks again. 

“Rey.”

She grits her teeth, head falling back. “I want--I want you to--”

His fingers play at her waistband and yet advance no further. When she looks down he is watching her, eyes wide and pupils blown with arousal. She can see the tent of his trousers, but he makes no move to cure it. Instead, he waits with a patience that frustrates her. Rey’s hands clench as she fights her invisible restraints. She feels as if every nerve is on fire. There is an ache in her that hollows her out, that makes her knees shake with the intensity of it. She thinks that if he doesn’t place his hands on her she might explode. Or implode. Or--or--

“Touch me, please, I can’t stand it--”

Ben doesn’t hesitate after that. He yanks off her boots, and then her leggings follow shortly after. One finger draws up through her center, testing. Exploring. Rey shudders, and then his finger slips inside her. 

A gasp is drawn from her lips, and she barely has time to gather herself before he’s pumping in and out of her at an easy pace, his breath hot as he mouths at the little bud of nerves that is setting her aflame. Rey preens, toes curling at the sensation of his mouth and fingers working her towards an edge, a precipice she’s only ventured to a handful of times on her own. It has never been like this. She has never felt a finger curl inside her as if gesturing her forward; she has never drawn pleasure from a man’s mouth in this way. Ben hears her thoughts and hums, sending another jolt of electricity through her--and then a second finger joins the first. 

“That’s it,” Ben tells her, leaning back as he works two digits inside her. His fingers are large, much thicker than her own, and when she looks down he’s watching them disappear into her with something like amazement on his face. “Yes, Rey, open for me.”

It stings a little when he presses a third finger in, but Rey can’t bring herself to care when moments after he presses a line of kisses along her thigh, and then his mouth is on her again. Doing a delicious combination of movements that make her want to weep. He suddenly sucks sharply at her and that’s all it takes to bring her tumbling over the edge. Rey releases with a cry, unable to move as he draws more and more from her until her vision goes white. 

When she comes back to herself, Ben is laying her on the ground. His cloak lies beneath her, and she watches with half lidded eyes as he strips off his shirt and then kneels between her legs. 

“Rey,” he says in a tone that suggests he is barely holding onto control. “Now is the time to tell me to stop.”

But she doesn’t want him to. She feels as if she’s merely had a preview of him, and she aches for more than just his fingers. She burns to see him undone. Rey opens her arms to him, feels the way he settles his weight on her carefully, and then feels his hardness grind against her through his trousers.

“Are you--” he grunts roughly, “--on contraceptives.”

It’s a ridiculous question, after everything they have already done. But Rey nods and swallows hard. There is a moment of panic when he releases himself from his trousers. She realizes his fingers were a pale comparison to the  _ size _ of him, and she thinks  _ that is not going to fit _ before she can help herself. 

Ben huffs out a laugh, the sound rusty, as he reaches down to collect some of her wetness. He smears it on the head of his cock, and then rubs it on her folds. “It will,” he promises, but she’s already lost in the feel of him like this. She bucks up against him instinctively, and one large hand comes to rest on her hip. 

“Ben,” she hisses when he goes no further. “Please.”

If he’s bothered by the use of his old name, he gives no indication. Without a world, his free hand guides the head of his cock into her. It’s a stretch—as he pushes forward Rey feels a juxtaposing pain and pleasure. The warring sensations flood her system with a wild, aching fervor that she shows with soft gasps and sighs. She thinks that this was always meant to happen--him, with his forehead pressed to her shoulder and she, legs intertwined with his as he slowly, purposefully buries himself to the hilt inside her. His breath comes in short bursts against her skin as he stills, letting her get used to the feeling of him. Rey lifts his head and brushes her lips over his brow before she can stop herself. 

“Move, Ben.”

He groans and does as asked, hips shifting away from her and then forward once more. It’s uncomfortable at first, to be sure, but that soon bleeds away to an all encompassing kind of pleasure that builds within her. She jerks her hips to meet his own awkwardly until they find a rhythm that makes her toes curl. Rey opens her mouth to speak--to say something that will alleviate the tortured, wide eyed expression on his face--but he shifts and hits something that makes a slow whine leave her instead. Ben lifts his head to watch her as he does it again, an expression of amazement rippling across his features. The movement nearly stops her breath, and she scrabbles for his arms, holding fast. 

_ Oh krif, Ben, right--right there-- _

She cannot speak but the words find him anyways. She feels a jolt of pleasure through the bond, and he renews his efforts sharper than before. His eyes bore into hers in awe, watching as she quickly breaks apart once more. 

Her walls clench with the force of her orgasm, and Rey arches off her back with the intensity of it. Ben fits a large palm beneath the base of her spine, lifting her in order to thrust into her hips faster, more recklessly than before as he reaches his own climax. Rey looks down the line of her body, connects eyes with him as he shatters apart, mouth dropping open into a soft, plush ‘o’ of shock. 

They remain like that for several moments, chests heaving, before Ben lowers her to the ground. In her peripherals she realizes that stones and sticks have been hovering around them in a dizzying display of the Force, and those too lower to the ground with her. She realizes it could be the unconscious work of either--or both--of them. The leftover emotions rumbling from one mind to another is an electric current, conduited by the Force itself. She feels its caress, hovering around them as if a physical being. It simmers under her skin, singing. In contrast, Ben’s solid, warm hands tremble as they leave her. Before he can get up, leave her, she grabs onto one, pulling him down to her. A sudden desperation has her kissing him, lips coaxing his surprise away. His mouth is more forgiving, now--all soft lips and little bites, gentle swipes of the tongue over hers as they both come down. 

And in the distance, a bird calls. They pay it no heed. 

\--

Later, Rey tugs on her boots and stubbornly stares at the ground. There is a rustling behind her as Ben does the same. It’s getting late in the day and the light is quickly fading from the sky, which makes her nervous. Now that they’re fully clothed and the pollen has--thankfully--worn off, she feels...too much. 

Too much hope, too much guilt, too much fear. 

She also feels as he reaches out through the bond, touching at the barrier she has thrown up. When it stays in place he withdraws, but she can sense his frustration.

“Rey,” he says finally, once she has stood. His voice is soft, confused--nothing like the man who calls himself Kylo Ren. It is at this that she turns to face him. She almost, almost wishes that she hadn’t--she might not have seen the lost, shameful nervousness he wears. One that calls to her fragile heart. It is an expression she has never seen on him, but one she cherishes. One that tells her the Dark Side hasn’t truly claimed him yet. He steps closer, until he can reach out and touch her. He doesn’t though, he just looks down at her and waits. 

“Ben,” she says softly. “I won’t ask you to come back with me. I know you won't.”

He looks at her with a touch of desperation. “Then come with me.”

She has heard this from him before, in two different air spaces. She remembers the way he held a hand out to her, lonely. Same as her. On two different sides, fire had rained down over them as Snoke’s throne room had burned. She had hoped then, too. She had hoped with saving her, with fighting at her side, he would return to the light. She had wished to be the one bringing him back. 

He had broken her heart then, too. 

She’s sure it will happen again. Almost to prepare herself, she takes a step back. Away from his outstretched hand. “Please, please don’t ask me that again. Not after...this.”

“No, because of this.  _ Because _ of this, Rey.” He’s pleading with her, head ducked in order to catch her gaze, brow furrowed. She can see, when she looks up at him, that his eyes shimmer with tears. How can their bond be so strong and yet so fragile? How can his words implore her as well as terrify her? How can she possibly say no to him?

But she must. 

Rey takes a steadying breath, even as she feels ripped apart. “No, Ben. You know I can’t. My place is with the Resistance.” She pauses, and then adds softly, “It’s yours, too. Come home.”

The word hits him like a physical blow. She feels his wince in her mind, sure as it crosses his face. She can see as he slowly slips away from her. Ben Solo is dragged back to the dark side in front of her eyes, and Kylo Ren begins to emerge. His lips twist into a snarl, and he turns away from her, shoulders lifted and tense. Panic claws are her chest and before she realizes what she’s doing, she’s projecting her wishes through their bond. Happy scenes she only lets herself dream of when she’s too exhausted to fight them: his lips brushing against hers in the dim light of morning. Sitting together at the controls of the Falcon as they journey into space. His arms wrapping her up as they lay together, enjoying the closeness of their embrace. Moments they have never had. 

“But we could,” Rey tells his back, chest tight. “Ben, we could. Please...don’t leave me alone.”

The words trigger something in his memory. That night on Ahch-To where they huddled together, hands outstretched in supplication, in wonder, in nervousness. The way the warm firelight played off his features, and the way his lips trembled with emotion. He had looked so young then, so unlike the man she had fought in the forest. He had told her then that she wasn’t alone, and yet--staring at the way his shoulders tense, at the fists curled at his side, she has never felt more alone. 

“Rey,” he says brokenly in response. Ben turns back to her, expression morphing into something closer to heartbreak than anger. He comes closer and touches his fingers to her cheek, tracing the path of tears that run freely. “You’re not alone.”

“Then show me,” Rey whispers wetly, gazing up at him. 

The stricken expression on his face slowly morphs into something else. He has put his gloves back on but she can still feel the heat of him as he caresses her cheek. His stare bores into her, searching; it begins warily, and then as she opens the bond to present herself, to plead her case, it happens. The barest flicker of a surprise and a tendril of something precious that clambors out of his mind and appears in hers. 

Hope.

And when he leans down to kiss her, she sees everything she’s wanted: a man with soft hair leaning down to press his lips to her forehead; the soft ease of waking slow in the morning; exchanging thoughts through the bond over breakfast while her friends look on in bemusement. 

It feels like a beginning. 


End file.
